selected a handful of wheat from one plant, then a few moments later, another handful from a different plant. Then he rejoined his two students.
“Here, Esk kar, look at these clusters of wheat.” Rebba held one in each hand, extending them to Esk kar. “Now, tell me which of these you would plant next year, and which you would make into flour.”
Esk kar stared down at the clusters, looking from one to the other. “I see no difference between them, Rebba,” he answered. “They look the same.”
Rebba offered his hands to Trella. “And you. Which would you choose?”
Trella examined them more closely than Esk kar. She took first one, than the other, into her own hands, and brought them within inches of her eyes, looking at them from all sides. “They seem the same to me also, Noble Rebba. Though, perhaps, the grains in one are slightly larger than the other.”
“You have good eyes, Mistress Trella,” Rebba said. “Yes, this plant is producing slightly larger seeds than the other.” He let the smaller cluster drop to the ground and held up the other. “This plant, and others like it, will be used as seed for the next crop. When we are ready to harvest the field, my farmers will look at every plant, selecting first those that produce the largest clusters and the biggest seeds, until they’ve gathered enough for the next year’s planting.”
Rebba lifted the cluster up to his nose, then took one of the seeds into his mouth for a moment. “Of course, we must taste each one, to make sure the flour we grind is not too harsh or bitter. It wouldn’t do to harvest a crop next season that made poor or bitter bread. If we did, no one would eat it, and we’d get less for what we sell on the river.”
Esk kar shook his head. The seeds had seemed the same size to him.
“So, the largest seeds will go back into the earth, to start the next crop?
Why does that matter?”
“Do you know how much wheat a hectare of land produces, Esk kar?”
Esk kar shook his head. “I am not even sure what a hectare is.”
“Ah, I’ve rushed ahead,” Rebba apologized. “A hectare is a square plot of earth exactly one hundred long paces on each side.” He waited until Esk kar nodded in understanding. “Each hectare of wheat yields about thirty — three bushels of seeds. Each bushel, after it is ground into flour, will make over seventy loaves of bread. On this farm, there are thirty hectares planted with wheat, so we will harvest almost a thousand bushels. Some will be saved for the next planting, a few go to feed the farmers and their families, and some are lost to rodents or rot during storage or transport.
Say, three hundred bushels in all. The remaining seven hundred bushels are available to be stored or sold. With what we sell, we can pay the smiths for our tools, the carpenters for our plows, the builders for our houses, and the traders for what few luxuries we need. And do not forget the herders-whose animals we use or sell for their meat.”
Rebba smiled at Esk kar. “With all the excess food produced on this farm, and others like it, those of us who own the land around Orak can even afford the most expensive luxury of all-supporting soldiers and their insatiable demands for weapons and horses.”
A thousand bushels of wheat! Esk kar was astonished. And that was just from this farm. There were dozens of farms around Orak, though not many larger than Rebba’s. “I didn’t know so much could be harvested, Rebba.”
“Orak is very fortunate in that the soil is very rich and water plentiful. A few miles away from the river, the farms produce much less. The farther you go from the Tigris, the smaller the harvest; eventually a farm will produce only enough to feed those who labor on it. Go beyond that and the lands are too dry to support even the poorest and most desperate farmer. That is why we choose to risk our lives staying here and fighting the barbarians.”
Rebba shook his head at the follies of men before continuing. “So you see, each cycle of growth and harvest is important, and that’s the answer to your question, Esk kar. The largest seeds go into the earth, and from the next harvest we will select once again the largest seeds. In this manner, over tens of years, we increase slightly the amount of wheat grown from each hectare. So each season there is a tiny bit more food produced, because we select and plant with care.” He turned back to Trella. “That is the mystery. The cycle goes on each season-sow, grow, harvest, select, and sow. And with each cycle we can feed more people.
Or buy more weapons.
“And that’s why, Esk kar,” Rebba continued, “we don’t want to lose even a single crop to the barbarians. Once the crops are destroyed or the land damaged, the work of ten or twenty years is undone, and the next harvest will yield less food. Instead of a rich harvest, we may not have enough to feed our own people. We’ve planted early this season, because of the news of the barbarians. We will harvest earlier, so this season’s crop will already be smaller. And this season’s seed crop will be stored in Orak, hidden in underground chambers so that even if the village falls, our families across the river may yet find them for the next planting.”
“Esk kar will not let the village fall, Noble Rebba,” Trella said.
Rebba looked from one to the other. “When Nicar declared his intent to stay and fight, I had grave doubts about our chances. Nevertheless, I remained here, even though I know my fields will be burned or flooded.”
He shook his head sadly at the thought. “Let’s return to the house. There’s still much to show you.” Rebba looked up at the sun and saw that nearly an hour had passed. “You will never be a farmer, Esk kar, but by sundown, you will at least know the value of a farm.”
For the rest of the afternoon Rebba talked about each crop, explaining the differences between the various types of wheat, how linen was made from flax, and how the animals were bred and raised. The last hour they studied the irrigation ditches, the channels that carried water not only to all parts of the farm, but continued on to the next farm, one owned by another wealthy villager.
Rebba and his family knew all about moving water, explaining how the ditches grew narrower and narrower as they carried precisely the right amount of water to the fields. “The water must move with the right amount of force. If there is too much force, we cannot control the water flow. The amount of water used to irrigate the plants is important also-too much water and the plants drown, or are sickly. Too little, and they die from the heat. Too much force, and the channels themselves collapse. Too little, and the water dries up before it reaches its destination.”
Esk kar had known that fact, though in a casual way, and without really understanding how critical the transport of water through the irrigation ditches was. Water was another one of the mysteries-a key to another part of the puzzle. Between the wells and the river, there was plenty of water for everyone, including the farms and all the herds of animals.
And it was good water. No one got ill from drinking the water in and around Orak, though Esk kar had gotten sick enough times in other lands drinking bad water, and he’d seen men die from drinking tainted water. He knew that in the dry lands away from the river, wells often produced a bitter — tasting water that could make even a strong man sick to his stomach.
Now Esk kar understood that the water in the river by itself didn’t help the farmers. What made the farms successful were the irrigation ditches that delivered the water where it was needed. The river merely provided the force to move the water, while Rebba and his people channeled it. He hadn’t realized how critical the hundreds of ditches that criss — crossed the land were, or how complicated their design and construction.
By the time Esk kar and Trella left Rebba’s house it was quite dark and one of the guards carried a torch to light the way. The cook had saved their dinner, and Esk kar and Trella decided to eat alone in the upper room. Esk kar said little during the meal; he kept thinking about Rebba’s words. When he finished eating, he found himself staring at the crust of bread that remained uneaten on his plate.
“You’re quiet tonight, Esk kar,” Trella commented as she finished her bread and vegetables. “Did Rebba tell you more than you wanted to know about farming?”
Esk kar looked at Trella across the table. “Until today, I had always thought farming was for those too weak to fight, or too unskilled to learn a trade. Now I learn that farming is the most difficult of trades, and the one most important to the village.”
“What is important is that you now understand how the village works.
You know how the farmers grow their crops and deal with the traders, how the artisans make tools, and the builders create homes. You know how the smiths make bronze and how the boatmen ply their trade. From now on, when the nobles speak, you’ll understand not only what they say, but how they think.”
Esk kar didn’t answer. After a moment Trella arose and gathered up the empty plates and carried them out of
